He's Getting There
by skrblr
Summary: Much, fifteen years old and two weeks an outlaw, has... fun... dashing through thorns and figuring out the whole outlaw business.
1. Exposition and Breakfast

Much woke up. Despite the chill and damp of the ground on an April morning in England, he loved lying there. His leader, of course, was wide awake. Much groaned as he watched Robin scatter the stones from the fire they'd had the night before. This meant they'd be moving out before breakfast. Wondering why, he tried to convince his eyes to stay shut and sleep, but they refused. He groaned again and thrashed his deerskin cover out of the way. Robin looked over, smiling.

"Glad to see you've finally admitted to being awake," he said softly. "Get ready to go. Try not to wake the others just yet with your battle againstthe covers." Much scowled and haphazardly folded the heavy material. Stuffing it in a large bag, he slumped against a tree and yawned. A little gray crept into the black of the forest.

"Ah. Dawn. Time to get everyone up," Robin muttered. With that, he made an odd little chirp. A wren chirped back. Some other bird, Much didn't know what, made a squawk. Within seconds, a lively competition between finch and thrush had begun. One or two of the outlaws groggily arose. The rest went on snoring.

"Everybody up! Awake and arise! Come on, you lazy lapdogs!" Robin said, not too loudly. One or two more sat up and stretched. Robin grinned nervously at Much. Bravely, he stepped towards the biggest sleeping outlaw. He tapped it, leaping backward to avoid a large flopping arm. He grabbed the arm and tugged it. With a growl, the person connected to the arm rolled in Robin's direction. Robin continued to pull on the arm, even managing to drag the body out from under the giant deer hide it had been bundled in. When it feltmoist earth, it finally gave in and got up. Little John stood, still half-asleep. Much applauded quietly.

"And on to the next," Robin sighed.

A while later, everyone had attained at least an appearance of being awake. None were making much noise, taking their cue from Robin. The camp looked un-camped in, and the deerskins were in a big green sack. Grumbling about lack of breakfast, all nine of them were gathered around Robin, in various sleepy poses.

"I know you all want some food, and you'll have it," Robin began. This alerted most of them. "But not until we get at least two miles away." That sent a moan through the small group. "Understood. Before dawn, I got word of ten mounted men of the Sheriff coming this way. I don't really want to risk a fight, so we'll meet up at Wat's Grove. Little John, if you wouldn't mind getting the blankets, Scarlet, the cooking gear, and I'll bring along the extra weapons. The rest of you, hurry. Don't leave a trail, and don't wait. Bye!" The band usually separated when they were going anywhere. Three men, carrying the extra necessities, went a bit slower, because of heavy supplies. The others, not as burdened, could move faster. Not only did this allow one group to arrive early and set up camp a little, it meant not everyone was together if they ran into trouble, which meant the safe group could go and help out the others. In any case, off the men went, holding their longbows and trying to run quietly. Much glanced back. Robin handed Little John the bag of covers, strapping the three swords to his own back and somehow holding five staffs in each hand. Fletching materials were already in a bag that he swung over one shoulder. Scarlet held the cauldron, which also contained the weapons Robin couldn't manage.

"They're going the short way, north through the middle. We're going to follow, but circle around here once or twice to be sure there's no evidence. We'll probably not go the exact same way they do, since they don't have these things to worry about," Robin told Will and Little John. Much looked ahead again, noticed that he was a ways behind everyone else, and ran to catch up.

An hour and a half later, Robin, Little John, and Scarlet walked into Wat's Grove.

"Took you long enough," David of Doncaster grumbled. "We've been waiting at least an hour for our breakfast." Little John smacked him and put the bag of blankets in one of the oaks.

"I'll have you know I've been waiting for breakfast, too, and I've been traveling longer than you today. I think I could stand even Robin's cooking," Scarlet said. The chief outlaw grinned lopsidedly and leaned the staffs against the same tree. The swords, he hung from a lower branch. Scarlet had been pulling random weapons and tools out of his huge pot—a ladle, a shovel, a hammer, a curved sword, some other things.

"I set up the fire!" Much piped up.

"It's that little twelve-year-old twerp Much. How did he even keep up?" Little John murmured. Much ignored that.

"He's not twelve, he's fifteen. And being young doesn't make him totally incapable. He wouldn't be in the band if he were," Robin said. Little John nodded reluctantly. It was true that Robin was very selective in those he allowed into his group. So far there were only nine, besides him, and it had been six months. Of course, people had tried to join. Especially during the winter, when food was scarce, men, even whole families would escape their masters and come to Sherwood in hopes of a better life. Robin usually let them stay a few days, sending them back with a pouch of money and one of the band to ensure a safe return. That man also generally subdued the master some. Much, who'd been standing by the fire, admiring it and thinking, ran up to them.

"Hey Mister Little John? While breakfast's cooking can you help me with my staff stuff? I heard you even beat Robin Hood!" At that moment he noticed his leader standing beside Little John and trying not to laugh. Much looked slightly embarrassed.

"It's true. It didn't take him long to send me into the river. There's no one better you could learn from," Robin said. Much now looked relieved that Robin Hood wasn't mad at him.

"Robin never tells everything, though," Little John interrupted. Robin gave him a warning look, perhaps so he wouldn't say he didn't want to teach Much, perhaps to keep him from letting slip something else. "What he's neglected to mention this time is that first, that fight wasn't quick, and second, I've never beat him since. Besides, he's closer to your height so he would be a better teacher." Robin shook his head.

"Sorry, I'm busy," he said. "And what Little John has neglected to mention is that no one but me can beat him. And I don't count. Plus, it'll take me hours to make your breakfast edible."

Much grinned and looked hopefully at Little John. Little John glared down at him, scowling. "Not only do I have to live through Robin's cooking, I have to put up with him," Little John muttered to himself. He sighed. "Fine. Come over here. Grab a staff. No, that's too big. Get a smaller one. That one is mine. Give it to me. First, you hold it. Not like that! And you hold it _still_."

Every one but the frustrated cook was watching Little John and Much, trying not to laugh. "Well, you got the holding part down. Mostly. Anyway, try to look like you know how to use a staff. Now you just look like an idiot."

"Breakfast is ready!" Robin called. Everyone cheered, until they remembered it had been Robin's turn to make breakfast. Then they lined up slowly by the pot. Will Scarlet was first. His face had a strange twist to it as he examined the glop Robin had ladled onto his 'plate' of bark. He stuck his finger in it and licked it.

"Could be worse. Has been." He licked up more, not seeming to think it too disgusting. The others did the same.

"It's not bad, for Robin. What'd you put in it?" Little John asked. When he noticed Robin's smile, he hastily decided he'd rather be ignorant. Much chattered about staffs all through breakfast, not appearing to care if his food looked like fungus. In a few minutes everyone was done, and Robin seemed very relieved no one had gotten sick.


	2. Thorns, etc

"Time to go again," he told them. "Scarlet, Little John, David, Stutly, Scathelock, Wat, Midge, you tidy up and get going. Bring bows, knives, and quivers. Nothing else. Move as fast as possible. Stutly, I leave you in charge until we meet you. I'll be going with Much and Arthur with the supplies. Go east until noon, then south for an hour or two. We'll probably see you before dusk. If we haven't met you by midnight, look around, but don't stray too far from camp," Robin ordered. At their confused looks, he continued. "While you were eating that—delightful breakfast, I was checking up on our stalkers. Somehow they've gotten within two miles of us again. I don't fancy a run-in with ten armed men on horseback. Yes, I know we have ten too, sure we could beat them, but there's no point in risking it. So, go fast. Now!" Everyone immediately obeyed. Seven green figures disappeared to the east, making much less noise than earlier that morning. Much was fidgeting with excitement, even holding the heavy cauldron.

"An adventure! And I get to come! With R—" Robin Hood cut him off.

"Quiet for a second. Do you hear anything?" Much raised his eyebrows and looked around. "Close your eyes. Separate the sounds, then dismiss the ones you don't need, like birdsongs. Anything out of the ordinary?" Much bit his lip and scrunched up his face.

"Yes," he replied. "Jingling." Robin watched Much. Arthur patiently held the weapons. He blew his straight, straw-colored hair out of his eyes and calmly glanced to the east. He couldn't see the other members of the band, who had left a few minutes before. The three of them probably ought to leave, too. Trying to remind them to depart, he grunted and shifted. Much startledly turned his head, eyes opening, but Robin ignored Arthur and went on teaching the boy.

"Yes, there is a jingling. Well done. Where's it coming from?" Robin knew from experience and Much's expression that the young outlaw had no clue. "Close your eyes. Find the jingling again, and turn your head until you hear it best. Good. Where's it coming from?" Much pointed.

"Correct. That way is called south. I'm sure it's a lot easier to tell when you're not in a forest and can see the sun properly. That's not the only way to tell, though. Well! Jingling from the south, good job. That happens to be the Sheriff's men on horseback, a mile away."

"How did you know all that stuff? Like which way was south?" Much asked, getting his voice back.

"Experience. I've been wandering these woods all my life, and for six months as an outlaw. You, fifteen years old and two weeks an outlaw, will learn these things soon enough. Come on, now, Arthur's right—we need to get going. No more talking."

Robin, who knew Sherwood best, jogged silently in the lead with the massive bag of blankets. The biggest of the three, Arthur trotted along behind carrying the weapons. Much, too little to keep the staffs from dragging and not skilled enough to keep the bag from getting too ripped and scratched, scampered in between Robin Hood and Arthur-a-Bland. He did stay fairly quiet for a few minutes, but couldn't stand it for long.

"I've been in this forest before. Whenever my dad Midge wouldn't need me to help at the mill I snuck out and explored Sherwood. Usually I went alone, but a few times I brought friends who lived in town. I lived in between the forest and Nottingham, on a river for the mill. Where do you come from, Arthur-a-Bland?"

"Bland. That's why they call me 'a-Bland.' 'Of-Bland.'"

"Oh. Where are you from, Robin? Are you from the hood?"

"Sh," Robin told him. "Can you tell where the Sheriff's men are now, as you run?"

"That's tough," Arthur commented. "I don't think he'll be able to. He's only twelve." Much said nothing, just got a better grip on the pot and kept running.

"He's fifteen. At that age, I was very similar to Much." The somewhat small boy looked down ruefully. "But I did more than one might expect. Besides, Much is smart," Robin said with a smile. Arthur shrugged while Much tried to figure out the appropriate response. All three kept hurrying along.

"All right, Much. Try again. Where are the Sheriff's men?"

The pace slowed for a few minutes so Much could listen better and not crash into trees. Uncertainly, he reopened his eyes in time to spot Robin stopping. Much had no idea if there still was the jingling, let alone which direction it came from. He said so.

"Good of you to tell the truth," Robin replied. "If you have good enough ears and know how, you can hear them still a mile behind us, and still south of us, heading north. They're following the main road, which leads through the middle of the forest. I don't want them to catch sight of either us or the rest, so you two hide here while I go back to see what everyone's up to." Before he could leave, though, Much broke in.

"Wait. What direction are we headed in, then?"

"North."

"Isn't the rest of the band going east then south?"

"Yes."

"Why aren't we?"

"We are going to drop things, make noise, rip off pieces of cloth from this bag or our clothes. All accidentally, but being the supply carriers, it's bound to happen. So if we want to keep the bad guys off the men's trail, we have to go a long, meandering, round-about way. Any other burning questions? No? Well then, I'm off." And with a bright smile, he was gone.

Arthur silently covered the pot, weapons, and bag of blankets with ivy and moist soil to hide them, just in case. With just as little noise, he sat against a tree and folded his arms. He looked very camouflaged. Much observed his actions wide-eyed. He knew nothing about life in the forest as one outside the law. True, he'd been around two weeks, after Robin had seen him shoot a deer. The Sheriff's men had almost killed him then and there, but Robin and a few of his men had done an amazing little skirmish and taken in Much's father and him. He was younger than any of the other men, though. He knew he talked too much. Much didn't exactly know why he acted and talked like he did. He'd never used to seek attention before. Of course, he'd had friends, which he really didn't now. He supposed it was because he was only fifteen, which they never let him forget. How old were the others? Arthur looked middle-aged. So did Little John, Much's own father Midge, and Will Scathelock. Will Stutly and Wat the Tinker looked a little older, but had no gray in their hair. Will Scarlet and David of Doncaster looked young, though obviously not as young as himself. Much couldn't even remotely guess at Robin's age. From what he had eavesdropped from the outlaws' conversations with eachother, no one knew much about their cheerful commander. It was rumored he was a noble, but then how did he become so involved in the Saxon cause? How did he become a wolf's head? Some said Scarlet was his nephew, but he knew as little about Robin Hood as any. Much decided to ask Robin himself.

Suddenly Much noticed Robin standing beside him, just staring and grinning.

"Ready? Let's go," he said, flinging the bag of deerskins onto his back. Arthur fumbled to gather all the weapons, and Much was about to heft the enormous pot, but Robin lifted it first.

"You need your hands free. We're going to go through some interesting things. Have your dagger ready." Arthur raised an eyebrow, but unquestioningly followed Robin Hood. Much once again took his place between them, worrying. Their leader was still heading north, but at a much quicker pace.

"In case you're wondering," Robin said. "We are being followed, and the Sheriff's men will catch up to us soon. The rest of our men are a good distance away and no longer in any danger. Now the goal is to find a bunch of obstacles and go through them, forcing them to either abandon their horses or turn back. Once we've gotten them off their horses, we'll lead them to the same bridge I met Little John on. Unless we can outdistance them and hide our tracks, which is not probable. We'll cross the bridge quickly. It's not too deep, so if you don't mind, I'd like to have you, Arthur, underneath the bridge sweeping the feet out from anyone who gets almost all the way across. Then knock them out. Much, you will be in hiding on the other side with our stuff and my horn. I'll be on the same side, shooting everyone who gets close enough. The bridge is only wide enough for one man, so I'll only need to shoot one at a time. We should stay alive, they should at least be paused, and the others should be safe. If you two would like, you can throw rocks or whatever, just don't let them know where you are. I don't know what we'll do afterwards. Just play along. I know it seems like less adventure than would be exciting." Much agreed with this last statement. "But it will be. Much, if anything happens to both of us, find the rest of the band. Explain everything. I doubt too much could happen on just a little outnumbered battle on the bridge," Robin said with a crooked smile.

He'd kept running as he was telling them his makeshift plan. All three of them were breathing rather heavily. Much was not too happy with the plan, but he hadn't the breath to say so. He became even less pleased when Robin started dashing straight through a thicket of thorns. Sharp, pointy things tore at everything, and Much couldn't go back, with Arthur in the way, and whatever honor he might have to uphold. So he kept on plunging through, wondering when the thorns would finally stop. Eventually they did, and he was enormously delighted to see Robin halt. Much sat heavily, glad for the rest. He didn't know how Arthur and Robin managed, with bulky, heavy supplies to tote along. Tumbling out of the brambles a few seconds behind Much, Arthur, too, fell to the ground. Robin set down his burdens and looked back the way they had come.

"They left their horses," he muttered. "Rats. Come on, we have to keep moving. I'm sure you're delighted," Robin said with a suppressed smile. "Still, they're catching up even quicker than I suspected. We have to keep going. Next fun part is a stream." Much pulled himself up with a nearby tree. Arthur and Robin collected the supplies. Yet again, they were off, no longer worrying about concealment and silence. Much glanced behind once, after seeing Robin do the same and run even faster. Much saw nothing, though even unknowledgeable as he was, he could hear the shouts of their pursuers, still a fair distance behind them.


	3. Finally, we meet the Bad Guys

I give most sincere thanks to those nice people who review. Let me know what to change. My sister, who is getting tired of being forced to read my writing, refuses to comment except in very complimentary terms. I wonder why...

Dodging trees and trying not to trip over logs was all fine and well, but Much was getting tired. Thorns didn't just stay in neat little groves for them to avoid (or if Robin had one of his crazy plans, run straight through). If he had to get snagged on one more raspberry bush, Much didn't know what he might do. Arthur, meanwhile, was trying not to accidentally whack Much with the staffs in his hands. He would've used them for clearing the way, but they were moving too fast, Robin was in the lead anyway, and it would make it too easy for the Sheriff's men. Arthur wanted them to suffer at least a little bit. So he kept on galloping, minus the horse, and hoping they would get to the stream before long. They did.

"Don't worry about mud," Robin called back to them. "Just run through and try not to get shot at halfway across." The stream only went up to Arthur's knees, but the mud on the bank seemed at least that deep. Nevertheless, they kept running, despite boots nearly getting sucked off. All the mud got rinsed off when they dashed through the shallow water. It returned when they had to go up the other bank. Robin continued running until they got to a denser part of the woods, where he and Arthur put down their burdens.

"Take a rest. Drink some water." He gave a water skin to Much. "I'll be back." The outlaw chief took a deep breath, and trotted back the way they had come.

"I'll never know how he does that," Arthur said. He'd gotten his breath back and was sitting on the bag of blankets. Much was still panting. "I'm not sure I'll be able to get up again after this nice comfy seat."

"Why _did_ Robin go back?" Much asked.

"Dunno. Probably to either shoot at the Sheriff's men, check their progress, or do something else."

"That narrows it down a lot," Much said. He was stretched out, sprawled in one of the bigger clear patches between trees. They rested a few minutes in silence.

"It's that time again!" Robin was back. He must have taken a little break, because his breathing was mostly normal. "If we and they continue at the same rate, they'll catch up to us in five minutes. Although I haven't reckoned with mud. Good news! There are just eight of them now. One refused to run through the thorns—"

"Sensible man," Arthur grumbled.

"And the other stayed with him and the horses," Robin finished. "Now hurry up. I don't know why the rest haven't given up yet. I would've." At that, he grinned and encouraged Arthur and Much. With a little prodding, they were back to running. Much thought he would die pretty soon if he was lucky. Arthur steadily ran on. Robin, bag bouncing on his back at every step and pot hugged close, never paused. In a few minutes, a road was in front of them. Robin followed it north, but stayed far enough away from it to keep them from being spotted. Not too long after they sighted the road, a narrow bridge came into view. Urging the other two on, who looked almost ready to drop, Robin Hood led them across the bridge. Once to the other side, he shoved Much into a bush hidden from view of those on the bridge. The pot, bag, and weapons went with Much, though Arthur kept a staff as he slid amidst some reeds close to the end of the bridge. Robin strung his bow and put an arrow to the string.

"How are you doing, Much?" he called softly.

"We stopped. Never better."

"Arthur?"

"Wet."

"Good. They'll be here in a few minutes. Try to breathe quieter and not be seen. Very important. Don't let them know you're there until you must. For those who don't know, Much, take a really deep breath but don't hold it. It should calm your breathing a little." They started to hear intelligible voices. Unfortunately, it was mostly curses. Much listened intently. Arthur raised his eyebrows once or twice. Robin tried not to laugh.

"Wait. Shut up. I don't hear them anymore," someone said.

"You think this whole thing was a set-up, and they're going to ambush us as soon as we step out of the trees?"

"Maybe. Be careful, anyway." Eight men in black, ripped-up clothes stepped out of the forest. Robin stayed still, hoping the shadow he stood in would keep him unseen for now. Sure enough, they relaxed when, after a few seconds, none of them had an arrow sticking out of his chest.

"Single-file. They probably dropped their stuff here and went along the road. There's a bend right there so we can't see them running if they were."

One of them started along the wooden bridge. He looked a little nervous, but stepped on nonchalantly. Robin shot him. The man shrieked and scampered backwards. Robin hadn't killed him, and hadn't meant to. He just wanted to see if he could scare them off.

"Oh, you're just a sissy," a younger man said. His mustache was cut in a very pointy style so he looked like a rat. Robin guessed that probably wasn't the intent, and shot his right shoulder when he stepped onto the bridge. He looked like he would've run back too, if he hadn't just insulted the other man for doing that. So he walked on, not sure what to do. Robin shot him again, close to the other arrow, but this time it made the man lose his balance and fall in the water. Robin smiled, remembering what that was like.

"Look! There's an archer over there! See? Right under that tree," another black-clad man pointed out.

"Of course there's an archer, dimwit. You didn't think the tree shot me, did you?" the first man to be shot said. He was sitting on a rock and inspecting his left arm, where an arrow was shallowly embedded. The 'dimwit' averted his eyes and scowled. The mustached man was spluttering as he was dragged out of the creek by one of the others. Arthur admired them, oddly enough. Few outsiders were driven enough, and had sufficient endurance, to follow Robin through thorns, streams, and all at a fast pace. Now they were getting shot at, and still weren't heading home. There was either a tremendous prize, they were extremely bored, or had an awful punishment if they didn't succeed. Which led Arthur to wonder what their mission was, exactly.

"Maybe we could use one of us as a shield, so all the arrows get stuck in him and we can get past the archer and over the bridge," one of the bad guys suggested.

"Maybe we could shoot the archer," another said, rolling his eyes at the other's stupidity. "Who's the best shot?" Robin had been afraid this might happen. He sent off a few arrows in tight succession, hitting the hands of four different men. That was four less archers to worry about. The two he'd hit before probably wouldn't be much up to it, either, or so he hoped.

"Or maybe the question should be, who hasn't been shot yet?" someone said. One of Robin's arrows had hit his hand, but hadn't gone all the way through. Robin was careful about that sort of thing. It hurt more to have it pierce, and he didn't actually want them to suffer if he could help it.

"I haven't been hit. Where should I stand? I don't want him to shoot me, but I need a clear target." Robin shot him, then moved deeper into the shadows. The man unhappily looked at the black-fletched arrow in his leg.

"Oh, come on. If we all go across at once, he can't get us all." Robin got ready. The moment that one stepped on the bridge, he pierced his foot with an arrow, successfully nailing him to the bridge. While that one cursed and pulled the arrow out with a cry, the others widened their eyes and looked awed.

"I don't know. He must be some sort of—I don't know, to shoot so well. I bet he could get all of us at once."

"But you remember what the Sheriff said. Come back with an outlaw or else."

"We can always get a different one. Did he ever say why he needed one?"

"No, but I think it's because the peasants are starting to get rebellious. He needs an example, and a lawbreaker is perfect."

"I heard he got robbed by Sherwood bandits. Ten of them."

"Yeah, and now he wants revenge."

"But what are we going to do now? He said get a Sherwood outlaw. We aren't going to get another chance like this one. They're sneaky."

"I say we shoot him."

"Yeah."

"But what if he moves?"

"We shoot again. Anyway, he's barely moved at all so far."

"Okay. But what if the Sheriff wanted him alive?"

"Don't kill him, just shoot him so he can't get away."

"Who'll shoot him?"

"I will. Here, you guys get in a circle around me so he can't disable me too." Robin thought about ducking into the forest. That, however, would let them cross the bridge, and although Arthur might be able to get a few, it wasn't worth it. Robin had fast reflexes. He'd dodge their missiles. He thought about shooting a few of the Sheriff's eight men, but decided against it. His arrows were running out.

The archer in black had convinced his reluctant companions to guard him. Through a gap between two of them, he let loose an arrow. Robin had watched him aim and moved to the right. The arrow missed him by a few feet. The archer shot again, missing by the same distance to the left. A few more times he carefully aimed and fired, every time getting more frustrated when he missed. Arthur, surprisingly, was enjoying himself. He knew his leader well enough to realize they'd never hit him. It was just fun to see their best attempts foiled. Much couldn't see, but he heard the aggravated cursing of the Sheriff's men and imagined Robin smiling brightly. He was.

The Sheriff's men persisted in shooting at Robin fruitlessly. After a half-hour of this, Robin was getting bored, and the archer's arm tired. Arthur, fearing his leader would get too bored to move, or that the Sheriff's men would get too annoyed to stay on that side of the bridge, fished a fist-sized rock from the muddy water. Looking between the reeds, he hurled it at the archer. It hit his head and knocked him out. Robin didn't look too surprised. Arthur threw a few more rocks, most of them hitting and making a total of five unconscious. At last Robin spoke up.

"You know that I can kill the rest of you with arrows quite easily. If it so happens I don't, the rocks will. Make your choice—take yourselves and your comrades out of the forest immediately, or die. Very sorry to put it so bluntly, but I really must be going. Your decision?" All the black-wearing men were gone, either dragged away by their partners or dragging away their friends, in minutes. It appeared that the three that weren't hit by rocks were wise cowards.

Once a few minutes had passed, Arthur rose from the weeds and shook himself off. Much tried to extricate himself from the bush and ended up tumbling into Robin Hood. Hastily he scooted out of the way. Robin started chuckling. Before long, the three of them were laughing whole-heartedly. The innocent bystander would have seen no apparent cause, but that never stopped anyone. Eventually it died down, and Robin strolled over to Much's former hiding place, pulling out the scratched cauldron, torn bag, and chipped weapons. He sighed, but kept on grinning.

"They sure got beat up," Much said.

"We aren't much better, you know," Robin replied. "Somehow, bushes don't do anything for your looks, Much." He was right. Much, whose light brown hair was short but usually obedient, was covered in leaves and twigs and was sticking out in patches. The stream had gotten Arthur's yellow mop dripping and hanging in his face, but cleaner than Robin's, which was usually straight, reddish, and at ear level, but was now in some odd formation resembling a hedgehog. None were too clean, with mud, scratches, and uneaten breakfast abounding.

"Hate to be the bearer of bad tidings," Robin said. "But it's past noon, and we need to find the others before midnight. So, if everyone's ready to go…" Robin looked expectantly at them. Much stared up at him wearily. Arthur groaned, but creakily got up from the place he'd been sitting.

"Oh, all right," Robin relented. "We won't leave just yet. Take a nap, get yourselves some lunch. I need to make sure the Sheriff's men are doing what we want them to, and I'll look for signs of the Merry Men along the way. I'll be back within the hour."

"How do you do it? We're half-dead, and you're cheerfully saying you're off to run around some more. Are you completely insane?" It was Arthur who spoke.

"No doubt. See you later! Don't get caught!" Robin Hood trotted across the bridge and into the forest beyond.

"I'm following him," Much announced.

"Go for it. Bring his horn, and blow once if you get lost," Arthur told him. "And tell me what he does when you get back. I'm curious." Thus it was that Much darted off the same way, trying to be quiet and catch up.

Much ran for a minute or so, then stopped when he hadn't found a hint of his leader. He tried the listening trick Robin had taught him. Either Much wasn't very good at it, or Robin was impossibly quiet. Much looked around. The day hadn't brightened much since dawn, but the clouds hadn't decided to break yet. A few birds whistled, and the occasional small animal scampered past, but there was no other sound except the swishing of new leaves. It was only luck that Much happened to be sweeping his gaze in that direction when something green moved that wasn't a plant. He gingerly stepped around dead plants and dry sticks. Getting closer, he saw that it was indeed Robin Hood. Much had to duck when Robin's head swiveled right in his direction. The outlaw abruptly stood, still making no noise.

"Much, come here," he said quietly. Much drooped and obeyed. Robin tried to keep the corners of his mouth from going up, but he had little success. "You didn't expect me not to notice you, did you?" Much shifted and looked to the side. "Oh. You did. I see. Well, you can go back to Arthur unless you need something." Robin waited with a smile, but he twirled an arrow in one hand and Much knew he didn't actually want to waste time talking to him. Much tried to gather his thoughts quickly.

"Can I come with you?" Much asked. He managed not to chatter on about why, though as Robin pressed his lips together thoughtfully, he really wanted to say something to break the tension. Just as he was about to blurt something out, Robin made his decision.

"If you're sure you want to. Let me warn you, you'll have to keep up and be completely silent. Don't do anything if I don't tell you to. And I probably won't have time to stop for lunch, so if you're hungry, I wouldn't come. Your choice?"

"I'm coming," Much said firmly. Robin's face twisted slightly, but he kept smiling.

"Okay. Quiet, and follow closely." Robin noiselessly sprinting between trees and over rocks, Much stumbling quickly behind, both cringed whenever Much made an especially loud move. As they ran, Much figured that if he never set one foot in front of the other again, he wouldn't be too disappointed. He breathed as quietly as he could while he panted along. Robin slowed a little, to Much's great relief.

"Stop," Robin whispered. Much bumped into him. Robin stood rigid. Much, regaining his position behind Robin, listened. Far away, he heard voices. He strained to make out words, and pieced together something along these lines:

"You ran away from a single archer? Cowards."

"He wasn't an ordinary archer. You should've seen the shots he made! And there were rocks coming out of the water, too."

"Eight versus one, plus a few rocks. Pathetic. And I bet those five knocked eachother out when they were getting our their bows."

"Why am I even talking to you? You ran away from a few thorns!"

Robin interrupted Much's listening. "Come on." They jogged a few minutes, getting nearer to where the Sheriff's men were resting. "Stop." Much collided with him. Before he could noisily step back, Robin hoisted him clear of some easily-snapped twigs and set Much down beside him. Just within sight were the ten Sheriff's men. Five argued loudly, and the others had begun to revive. Robin set arrow to string, lifting and drawing the bow, but not yet shooting. The controversy between the ten men ended a few minutes later, with the one who'd stopped at the thorns looking smug.

"So we'll go back and find that outlaw--Robin Hood--but bring the horses this time." Suddenly an arrow protruded harmlessly from the speaker's hat. Much turned to see Robin nock another arrow.


	4. Why, hello, David

Okay! First, I'm incredibly sorry for such an awfully long time since last time. Second, I hope you don't mind if I respond to reviewers here. Reese Sparrow: Many many thankses for your niceness. As for the relationship between Much and Midge (who is indeed his dad), good point and thanks for bringing it up. I sort of accidentally based it off my own dealings with my dad, so I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't said something! OutlawEris: I'm so happy to get reviews from you! Good of you to point out Much's naivety. I had kind of been aware of it, andmy reasoning is, it's just how he gets around the outlaws; all nervous and forgetful and so forth. Nevertheless, I guess he is a bit too ignorant to be realistic sometimes. I'll work on that. Thanks! Entertainedbygrass: I was just so very grateful for your nice little review! So much for updating soon... Oops.

One final thing. If you've read my story about Marian's maid, you'll realize that the characters are almost identical to these. Thus, I'll be merging the two stories, and it'll probably come into effect next chapter. Some things will be different; tell me what you think! Reviews make me run up and down the stairs singing the Robin Hood song in ecstasy, so please give me your input!

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"I told you! That archer's not natural!" one of the men said as the ten of them galloped off. With an especially bright smile, Robin hastened on with Much. 

"Where are we going now?" Much asked.

"Figuring out where the rest of our people are." Robin crawled up a nearby tree. Much, eyes heavenward, saw not a sign of him. Not too much time had passed before Robin slithered down a neighboring tree. For no apparent reason, he merely stood at the base of it, rocking back and forth. Just as Much was about to ask him if he knew that rocking back and forth was the first sign of insanity, he heard someone.

"Robin!" called a voice, far closer than Much had thought there would be any people. He flicked his head from side to side and finally caught the hint from Robin Hood that the speaker was right behind him. Much spun one hundred and eighty degrees to look up into the face of David of Doncaster. The boy could just see the held-back laughter in his brown eyes. David turned them to Robin, however, a little more serious now.

"Glad I got you; they're all at Wat's grove, resting while I have to run around looking for you, cuz _they're_ too _lazy_ to go tell you." Robin lifted his eyebrows and shifted to the left. Much was perfectly content to slump against a tree while they talked.

"To tell us?" Robin prompted, shifting to the right and grinning. Much suddenly noticed that he was a member of the plural 'us.' The bliss that lit his face made David look at him strangely, but the black-haired outlaw nevertheless continued.

"To tell you about the visitors we spotted along the road," he replied, resting his hand on the bark of a nearby tree trunk. The whole casualness of his attitude immediately caught Much's attention, and the boy sharpened his ears.

"And?" Robin said, not even bothering to cover his smile. David's eyes sparkled with equally unconcealed glee.

"And guess who they are!"

"Ummm…"

"I didn't mean it. Anyway, it's Marian and her maid with Guy of Gisbourne! Can you believe it?" David was bouncing by this point. Much was clueless as to any significance this may have had except that Guy was the most villainous bounty hunter Prince John had ever hired. The boy's light brown eyes turned to Robin Hood for any clues about what emotions he should be feeling. That wasn't much help. A typical expression of neutral euphoria seemed permanently plastered to the freckly face, and Much hadn't been around long enough to distinguish joy from depression yet.

"Believe it? Not easily, but I'll assume you didn't go gallivanting after us for fun," Robin said. "Wat's Grove… I'll see how fast Arthur and Much and I can get there. We may have to quicken the pace again—" Much made a highly expressive moan. "But I think if we run—" Another howl of death. "We can reach you a few hours before dusk. Just wait at the grove, get people started on dinner—for ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, and then if you include Guy's men…Oh, we'll just send them away. Thirteen. Send a couple men to track their progress, if you haven't already. What am I forgetting?" Robin rubbed the shiny wood of his bow and looked towards the clouds. Then his green-eyed gaze flipped back to David, who surprisingly enough had actually mostly followed the non-logic of his little speech.

"I don't think so," David said in proper random fashion. Much scratched his head and made a bunch of his brown hair flop on his face. He brushed it away and tried to catch up with the conversation, which hadn't moved on but was still awfully befuddling. Robin Hood glanced at him and almost giggled at the confusion making itself evident on the boy's face.

"Come on, Much. Time to run!" Robin exclaimed brightly. And off they went, to the (not exactly) delight of Much.


End file.
